


The Dust We Leave Behind

by LigeiaMaloy



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Childhood, Childhood Trauma, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Fluff, Friendship, Loss, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Mischief, Nudity, Origin Story, Pre-Canon, Pre-Overwatch, junkrat's origins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-19 23:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9465374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LigeiaMaloy/pseuds/LigeiaMaloy
Summary: Mako and Jamie teamed up long before Overwatch and are busy spreading mayhem all over Australia. While Jamie just wants to be the one and only Junkrat to the world he knows, the famous criminal mastermind, feared and admired for his genius, Mako has been brooding on a new plan. But good plans take careful preparation, especially with an unpredictable force of chaos in tow. So far, everything seems well but then again, Mako hasn't told Jamie everything yet.For once, Mako can guess how Jamie is going to react. Everyone who knows the past of the mighty Junkrat would, a story of a childhood buried in dust.





	1. Challenges of Today

**Author's Note:**

> Yo! I started this fic months ago and finally kicked myself hard enough to sit down and finish it (well, to work towards finishing it.). Back then, I thought it was a good idea to tell two stories in one. Do I still? Eh. Since when do fanfic writers agree with their past ideas? 
> 
> Anyway! Here's how it works: One chapter present story, one chapter past story, and so on. There'll be shenanigans, humor, banter, grumbling, giggling but also the intriguing angst and drama that comes with the Junker's lore. This fic doesn't focus on their romance. They are just what they are, dorks with wonky morals and their own ideas of any kind of partnership and timing for tender gestures. Please don't feel put off when they don't seem very lovey-dovey during the first chapters :)

“Check the time. Go inside. Get the goods. Meet me on the top floor. Don’t fuck up. Check the time. Go inside. Get the goods…” Jamison Fawkes stared at the clock on top of the glass tower. An eternity had passed since he was waiting here, that damn thing was rigged, a scam! But what else was there to expect by a city that had made kissing the butts of omnics a form of art. He spat on the ground and looked up again. Another minute had passed. That made five. Ten more to go.

“Meet me on the top floor. Don’t fuck up. Check the time…” he whistled the steps of their plan to himself. Well, not exactly _their_ plan. Only the infamous Mako could come up with a lame idea like this, that was why he was just an equally lame Roadhog. He, the _famous_ _Junkrat_ , would have come up with a strategy that worked. No, no, not only worked. It would have been a blast, another legendary coup by the brain of their team. But nooo... Sometimes he wondered why he was paying that damn hog. Or, was going to pay. Soon. Promised.

An empty can rolled over the asphalt and stopped in front of his feet. He jerked his eyes away from the clock. A small group of five humans was walking past him, chatting with hushed voices and less subdued chuckles. They looked at him! There! He saw it! Don’t they even think he wouldn’t notice! Fucking bastards!

He gave the can a good kick, sending it up into the air. It missed the head of one of the guys by an inch. Dammit.

Wait, what was he doing?

“Check the time…” Heads were turning around, but he studied the clock, his cap pulled deep into the face. His peg leg was shoved behind the good one, his artificial hand buried deep in the pocket of his shorts. Being famous had its perks - everybody knew him. It also had its downsides - everybody who knew him did so from the most-wanted posters and TV shows about criminals on the run. Was this clock shitting him?! Still six minutes left?!

_Unless you_ _’re too stupid to act like a normal guy for twenty minutes._ Those had been Mako’s magical words. The mighty Junkrat - stupid? Ha! Every idiot could act like a normal guy, and he was a premium idi- wait! Anyway, he had agreed, and now he was here, regretting it. The whole plan sucked, from the first step over the time frame to the whole purpose. Which he didn’t even know! Of course Mr. Mighty “I’m just a stupid pig-guy but I know better than you what’s best” Hogface had to make a big, fat secret of it.

“Screw my good and gentle heart.” At least nobody was looking at him. During the day, it was too hot even for those grown up and used to the Australian summer. The sun changed the capital into a ghost town, but as soon as it settled behind the horizon, the city burst into a circus. Neon lights were competing for attention, humans and omnics filled the street, their voices growing into one deluge of noise rolling over their heads. Colors, flashes, the smells of hot asphalt and food and sweat, laughter and giggles, and screams and somewhere, somebody was yelling at someone or something.

Jamie’s eyelids twitched, the end of his prosthesis tipped and tapped on concrete. The frown disappeared from his face as the corners of his mouth pulled his face into a teeth-baring grimace.

He chuckled, his hand closing around the trigger - and felt nothing.

“Fuck!” He tore the cap from his head and tossed it to the ground. Roadie would pay for this! Nobody took his explosives away, _nobody!_ He didn’t care he had handed them over voluntarily, he would never admit that, at that moment, Mako had sounded reasonable. Hell, he didn’t even remember the pig’s reasons, so how good could they have been? Dammit, his sweet darling babies, kidnapped and held hostage by his own bodyguard. Waiting for him to come and save them before that bloody hog blew something up with them. _Without him!_ Right! The time! He better hurried!

“Well, guess I’m gonna blow them away with my explosive personality.” Giggling, he pushed himself away from the wall and strode towards the fast food joint.

  


With one long step, he reached the wide front door. His fingernails tapped on the glass, and with a wide grin, he peeked inside. It took the scanner a second to detect the new arrival, then the door slid open. He couldn’t be sure if anybody had looked into his direction but if they did - the first impression was important! Oh boy, it was time to lead the dance.

“Ladies!” Stretched to his full 6’6’’, he walked down the aisle between the many occupied tables. A trio of young girls was staring at him, chewing slowly with wide open mouths on their food. “G’day, sweeties.” He made a little bow, the clanging of his peg leg on the shiny floor hardly been thrown off it’s staccato-rhythm. More heads were turning around, some turning away again quickly, other customers gaped at him.

_Bloody right, dingos, better be scared. The mighty Junkrat_ _’s back in town, and he’s gonna show ya a good time. Or maybe only myself._ He flashed his grin, tilting his head, and hoped the bright ceiling light reflected on his gold tooth. Yes, nothing and nobody could miss his imposing physical presence. He ignored the wrinkled noses as well as the giggles behind him.

He shoved the waiting customers aside and leaned on the counter, one hand propped on his hip.

“What can I get you, Sir.” The young man behind the counter didn’t bother to raise his voice to a question. He pulled up a towel and began to wipe the surface around Jamison’s prosthetic arm.

“Glad you ask. Do ya put pork into them burgers?”

“McKingway praises itself for their high-quality beef. We assure all our customers that only the finest ingredients are accepted for our products, and guarantee we’ve been refraining from deforesting and child labor since the founding of our beloved company. The environment is as important to us as the customer’s satisfaction.” The words came with the casualness and lack of enthusiasm as to be expected from an underpaid retail worker who had repeated them more than once every evening.

“Sweet. Five bags.” He beamed and straightened, his flat hands drumming on the counter.

“Five bags of what, Sir?”

“Everything, mate! Oh, and add some of those, the things with real sugar!” He pointed at the soda cans behind the clerk, his eyes fixed on the neon green with pink and white writing.

“Uh, everything?” For the first time, the clerk seemed to wake up. His head jerked up and he stared at his customer. Tall, scrawny, shirt and shorts covered with burn holes and dirt. Long, thin face with a too long nose, blond hair with bald patches. “Sir, have I seen your face before…”

“Sure.” Giddy to be recognized, Jamison grinned at the poor, confused guy, spreading his arms. “Ya can tell ya grandchildren how ya served the mighty Junkrat. Hey, gimme one of them bags, gonna sign it for you and… Ah!” He laughed, slabbing his head with the palm of his artificial hand, leaving a red mark. “I almost forgot! Sorry, mate!” Giving the guy a wide, proude smile, he pulled a gun from his pocket.

“This is a hold-up. Ya better get moving before my buddy gets really hungry.” He chuckled and slammed the gun on the counter.

“Yes, Sir, of course. Five bags, you said, right?” The pale clerk turned around, yelling orders into the kitchen. Outside, the tower clock struck ten.

*

10 pm, sharp, and no police sirens, no explosions, no mass hysteria.

Mako grunted. For once, things might go according to his plan and he didn’t even have to babysit his partner. Now it was his turn. If Jamison didn’t fuck up, Mako had about fifteen minutes left to reach the lobby of the hotel. He hurried to pull off his mask and stuffed it behind his belt. From the bag he had brought with him, he dragged out a white, long button shirt. He put a handwritten note on top of the bag’s remaining content, closed it, and pushed it under the dumpster, praying a certain twitchy idiot didn’t forget to check there once he arrived. That, however, was out of his control now. Also, he had more urgent matters to deal with before getting out of this filthy yard.

His foot poked the body lying on the ground. No reaction. Either the man was dead or knocked out hard enough to remain unconscious a little while longer. Mako didn’t care. The unlucky fool had simply chosen the wrong moment for a smoking break. Mako’s large hands moved quickly over the silent body, removed the wallet and a small gun from him. No riches, but any money he could find would be helpful for his big plan.

As for the gun - no, he didn’t need it for his part, so he might as well take his little test to the next level.

He pulled the bag out again, opened it, put the gun inside. He grabbed the note and a pen, adding another line.

“ _Also, this one is loaded. Use it for your show if necessary. Still no kills!”_

He looked at his own sprawling handwriting for a moment.

“ _Don’t fuck this up!”_

Half of the note consisted of this phrase, so maybe there was a chance it stuck to Jamison’s brain longer than a minute.

The bag went back under the dumpster, the body was hurled up and stuffed inside, sinking into an uncomfortable mess of rotting trash when the lid closed above him. Even if he was still alive, he’d need a while to attract attention and by then, it didn’t matter anymore.

With everything set up for Jamie, it was about time he focused on his own performance. Time was tight but things should go smoothly from this point on. As long as a certain twitchy idiot didn’t screw his part of the deal up. Mako sighed when he walked towards the back door. He had his reasons why he usually preferred to work alone.

The good side about being discovered by Mr. Cigarette Addicted was that, at least, Mako didn’t have to bother with breaking the door open. He looked back into the yard one last time. Nothing out of the ordinary. Noises came from the streets but didn’t move closer. The bag was well hidden, the content of the dumpster silent.

Well then, it was time to go.

He sneaked inside, buttoning his uniform up as he walked down the dark corridor. He opened his ponytail, straightened his hair and put it back together down his neck. He reached the kitchen in no time, quickly rubbing his hand over his face, wiping the last dirt and dust away he might have missed earlier. Good, his stubble hadn’t grown back notably. He had washed his white hair a few hours ago and should look clean shaved enough for his performance.

Grimacing to loosen up the muscles of his face, he put on a polite smile and searched for the chef.

Dinner time was over but the kitchen was still busy. Large steaks were sizzling in wide pans, the smell of spices, grilled meat was hanging in the air, mixing with the scent of sweet cakes and baked, candied fruits. The eyes of the cooks were glued to their stations while they shouted warnings at each other. Somebody yelled in pain, metal crashed on tiles, followed by splashes of water.

Mako quickly steered towards the man with the reddest head and the loudest voice.

“Imbeciles! Incompetent amateurs! I should fire you all, I WILL FIRE YOU ALL AND - who the fuck _are_ you?! _”_ The chef hardly reached Mako’s chest. With his bald head, the elderly man looked even smaller and more fragile compared to the massive man who had appeared in front of him all of a sudden.

“The stand-in who was ordered this morning, for the late shift.” With his massive hand, he grabbed the chef’s and gave it a hearty shake. “Samuel Johnson. At your service, boss.”

“God, just what I need, to work somebody in.” The chef pulled his hand free, stretching and closing it to ease the pain. “You look like you can eat. But can you cook?” With the good hand, he patted Mako’s large stomach.

“Cook, clean, wait, twenty years of experience. Worked at my last position for seven years before I was replaced by an omnic.” Only humans were working in the kitchen, and running in and out to fetch the finished meals. The chef rose in Mako’s esteem, but more importantly, this observation could prove useful. His hunch was quickly proved right.

“Pah, _those_ guys! I’ll boil myself alive as _soup toujours_ before I let a _kitchen appliance_ run this place! Okay, let’s see…”

The door to the kitchen flew open. A woman with flushed cheeks and flashing eyes stormed inside, throwing a complete dish - plate included - into the trash can. She stomped towards the chef. A head taller than him, she glowered down at him, her fists on her hips.

“Enough is enough, Monsieur Brisebard! This was the last time I served table 23! I’m not paid enough to put up with this bullshit!” Her short curls bounced as she shook her head. With her finger, she poked her short boss’ chest.

“Fiddlesticks! No, no, no! Doesn’t anyone here show any pride and professionalism anymore? Marie, you turn around and go back out there and do what they want at once! I do not risk the reputation of _my_ kitchen-”

Her arms crossed, the face stern, her mouth moved into a humorless grin.

“They brought the twins with them tonight.”

“Dismissed, Marie. Take a break and a glass of wine.” The chef rubbed his temples, sighing when the waitress turned around with a triumphant smile. “Mon Dieu! Monsieur _and_ Madame Baker _and_ the double-pest, they _are_ my _demise_! My _doom_. The nails to my coffin _and_  the coffin…” Suddenly, he jerked his head around, smirking when he saw the giant man still standing on the same spot.

“You worked as a waiter, yes? Good, very good. Can you, you know,” His finger circled around his own face. “Put on an evil expression? Not angry. Like you’re about to murder someone any moment?”

Mako chortled, for a second indeed struggling against the persistent grin. But then, his face relaxed into its usual expression. He thought of his motorbike, and what explosives and an idiot without impulse control had turned it into two days ago.

“Yes, yes, excellent! Excellent, my friend!” The chef was rubbing his hands. “You’re serving table 23 today. And if you stand by them with _that_ face on until they’ve finished eating, I’ll double your pay.”

“Sure, boss.”

A minute later he was hurried out of the kitchen and on his way through the restaurant, pushing a food cart past table 23 and towards the elevator with a smug grin. Excellent, this went better than expected.

_I swear, Jamison, you better don’t fuck this up._

 


	2. Child of Yesterday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time, some people were worried, most people were not, and Jamison Fawkes was still a child.

One, two -skip- four… The little boy jumped over the square with the pebble. Standing on only one leg, he waved his arms to keep his balance when he turned around to pick the small stone up.

“Careful, young Fawkes!” Two arms, soft from age and strong from work, caught him before he fell to the ground and put him back on both feet. Jamison Fawkes looked up into the wrinkled, tanned face of Auntie Emmie, short for Misses Emily Brown, not related through blood or marriage to him. The little boy grinned over his whole face, showing off the almost perfect rows of teeth. One incisor was missing, which created the most perfect grin for a five years old boy.

“I’ve played hopscotch when I was a girl, too, but I swear, yer the reason why me mum used to say ‘Emmie, girl, there is no reason for a smart human being to stand on one leg when she can stand on two!” She laughed, her coarse fingers ruffling through his mop of soft hair.

Still a year too young for school, Jamison enjoyed a wonderful summer of playing outside every day until the Australian sun had bronzed his skin and turned his blond hair almost white. His eyes, their color of a yellowish amber, were shining like the sun itself when Auntie Emmie’s hands were digging deep into the pockets of her frock.

“But don’t tell yer mum.” She winked as she handed him three pieces of candy. They were squishy and wrapped in shiny foil that sparkled like fireworks in his hands. His favorite! Bouncing on his toes, he reached up, gave her a hearty hug and dashed off. His mother had said she would be back in few minutes and there was now way he’d let her caught him with his treasure! She’d demand him to share with Little Bugger, as he called his baby sister. Before he’d do that, he’d rather be scolded for running off on his own again.

Sucking on toffee-filled chocolate candy, the little boy strolled towards the center of the little farming village. Like every week, it was market day. His mother wanted to come here together with him and his sister anyway, so he saw nothing wrong with heading ahead on himself. This way, she couldn’t even accuse him of dawdling, so this should even out his crime of not waiting for her as he had been told.

“Well, if this isn’t Little Jamie!” Uncle Abe was taking a break under the shadow of a tree and waved him over. Again, not related by blood and marriage, but one of the many nice elderly folks he called uncle or aunt.

“My, have yer grown! Remember yer being such a little mite just yesterday, and now yer all on yer own already.” The old men laughed, pinching Jamie’s cheek. The boy chuckled, swallowing the last bit of candy. “But yer mum’s coming, ain’t she?”

Jamie nodded until strands of his thick hair fell into his small face. He wasn’t a big talker. He had taken his time to start speaking, but why bother. The grown-ups knew everything anyway and if they didn’t, shaking his head or nodding usually covered any questions they might have.

“Hope she’s feeding yer well.” Uncle Abe poked his bony ribs. It was true, no matter how much Jamie ate, his body took its sweet time to grow and blatantly refused to put any meat on his bones. This was the biggest grief of his life - he hardly looked like a boy who’d be old enough for school soon. It was unfair. His parents were tall, and despite lecturing him about sharing all the time, they hadn’t shared their size with him.

“Here.” Uncle Abe took his small hand and put a few coins into it. “For some sweets and ice cream. Now off with ya, go and have a feast, I’ll keep yer mother busy when she shows up!”

Jamie stuffed his new treasure into his pocket, gave Uncle Abe a tight hug and ran off. He loved his parents, but uncles and aunts were so much more fun!

The market wasn’t large, but for a small boy, it was easy to get lost between bustling adults, clucking chickens and snorting pigs. The world really was huge and it smelled amazing! He considered investing his money on barbecued ribs with fresh bread. Cakes, with their scents of vanilla, chocolate, and fruits, smelled very convincing, too! He pushed between all the grown ups to have a better look at the different stands and waved at children he knew from his neighborhood. He wanted to show some of his friends the pretty candy wrappers and to brag with his fortune, but their parents would pull them along whenever they tried to stop and chat.

Parents really were no fun. When he was a grown up, he’d never become a parent. As far as he was concerned, uncles were nice adults with money and aunts nice adults with candy, so he’d either be an uncle or aunt, or both!

“G’day, Prince Jamie! Wanna try a piece of my new raspberry candy? For my favorite customer, it’s on the house!”

If course he wanted to! With bouncy steps, he skipped to Auntie Willow and her candy stall. She was a nice, pretty woman with red hair and a large nose. He liked her a lot, she always gave him some free candy, and she didn’t pinch his face or teased him for being clumsy. He had secretly planned to marry her when he was older but hadn’t told anyone. It was supposed to be a surprise!

“Thanks,” he mumbled, his mouth filled with the flavor of raspberries drowned in sugar. He fished his money out of his pocket and held his hand up. With a solemn nod, she took his offering.

“That’s why yer my favorite customer ever, Prince Jamie,” she said after glancing over the coins. “I’ll give ya some of my finest sweets.”

This day was getting better and better! Lost in his dreams of all the adventures he’d seek in the Outback, his pockets stuffed with sweets, he wandered over the marketplace. Soon, he’d meet his mother but she could scold him all she wanted, she could never take away the wonderful flavors filling his mouth and stomach. Skinny as he was to everyone’s worry, they wouldn’t send him to bed without dinner, so the worst thing he expected was to be grounded. Outside was fun but comics and video games were fun, too. If he got bored, he could always close his eyes and dream of being a hero, tall and buff and the strongest in the world.

The noises around him changed, and the crowd was becoming too dense for him to slip through with ease. He had reached the south end of the marketplace, and for some reason, half the village seemed to have gathered here, standing side by side and not paying attention to a little scrawny boy and his curiosity.

Voices were mumbling, and someone on the other side of this wall of people was shouting. A preacher, maybe? His father had said preachers were too popular these days, and as long as they didn’t bring money or new machines with them, they weren’t worth listening to.

Jamie squeezed through a row or two, crawled on his knees between legs and feet through another. Finally, he was close enough to have a look at the preacher and to catch some of his words.

“I tell you, every single one of you, this is the end of our cozy lives, and the system’s rating us out!” A tall man ranted, his arm waving at the crowd. Jamie had seen him before, he belonged to one of the neighboring solar farms, but he didn’t remember the name. “They’ve sold us to the omnics, like slaves! What do you think will happen to us and our homes? Do you think they need someone like you, Jason, with your bad back?” He pointed at an elderly man, one of Jamie’s neighbors. Uncle Jason was a cattle farmer but most of the work was done by his wife and daughter, he had once heard his mother saying.

“And you, Jill!” He pointed at Misses Jill, the only woman who wasn’t an aunt because she was a teacher. She put a protective hand over her round belly. “Do you think machines give a bloody damn about your children? They don’t need children! They’ll just build another one of them bloody tin cans. They don’t need us. Any of us! We’re waste, compost to them, and that’s how they gonna treat us! And the government’s watching!”

Jamie shuddered. He had seen the weird machine people only on TV and was fascinated until he learned they were real and not just a fun sci-fi show. Then he was scared. His parents insisted he was silly. Omnics only walked around in the big cities, they had no need for their land. He had believed them, but now this tall man was saying something completely different? He shrieked when he was grabbed by his shoulder. The machines! They were here!

“Jamison Fawkes! What have I told yer ‘bout running away?” Suddenly, omnics weren’t his biggest problem. His mother had found him and she was fuming. He pressed his lips together, his head pulled between his shoulders, he glanced up his her, waiting for the thunderstorm to roll over him. To his surprise, nothing happened. Her face was red with anger but she stared at the man standing in front of the crowd.

“Stop it with yer bullshit, Bill!” her voice cut through the air and the mumbling around them stopped. She bent down and picked Jamie up. She never carried him anymore since she had Little Bugger, but his sister wasn’t with her. He didn’t question it, for now, the confrontation between his mum and the other guy was so much more exciting! From her arm, he had a much better view. His mum was tall so he could look over many heads in front of him.

“Yer gibberish’s scaring kids and fools, nobody else,” his mother continued. “All yer doing is raising a panic among them, for nothing!”

“That’s what you’re saying now, Mia Fawkes! You gonna eat your words when everything’s gone! When they’ve taken our land, our homes! Yes, your little house, too! What are you planning to tell your pretty child there when he’s homeless before the year’s over?”

Jamie wrapped his arms around his mother’s throat. He didn’t like what the man was saying at all. He didn’t want to call his parents liars, but… this man was so much taller, and he was looking so serious. Also, he wasn’t alone. Three others were standing behind him, two as tall as him, one even taller and at least twice as wide! They, too, were from large farms and villages in this area. They looked like they could crush him under their feet if they were afraid of the omnics they had to be very dangerous.

“Yeah, like the government would ever let this happen,” his mother scoffed. The crowd around them was making room, and the slender woman with the small, fearful child in her arms was glowering at the group of men. Everybody knew Mia Fawkes and her temper and respected her and her husband as hard working people with smart heads on their shoulders. An argument between her and four of the most well-known, wealthiest men in these parts of the outback was the most exciting thing to happen in this little village since the big fire from seven years ago.

“We’ll see where your government is when you and your family are fed to the wilderness!”

“They’ll be in their beds and we in ours. Just like your families. As you’d know if they hadn’t left ya sorry because of ya fanatic nonsense and ya silly Liberation Front. Isn’t that right, Rutledge?” She nodded at the silent giant, whose face turned red like a beet at her words.

“You bloody…!” he spoke for the first time since Jamie was listening to them, his voice as overwhelming as his large body. But his mother was unimpressed.

“Ya all know I’m right. The government ain’t givin’ a damn as long as we’re doing our jobs and pay our taxes. They have their head up their arses and live their lives on papers.” She had turned her back to the men, her clear voice was speaking to the crowd. The mumbling started again, many heads nodded in agreement with her. Several listeners were shrugging and left, returning to their businesses.

Without wasting another word or even looking at the angry men behind her, Mia Fawkes strode past admiring faces, back to the center of the marketplace.

“You’ll regret it! We’re here to warn you! To protect you and help you to protect yourselves! But yeah, have it your way! But don’t you dare and complain later when your lives are in shambles!” the man called Bill shouted after them but she didn’t flinch, nor did she slow down her pace.

“Mum, are omnics coming? Are we in danger?” Jamie whispered, hoping nobody would hear him.

“Of course not, Jamie-baby. As long as yer a good boy and ain’t running away anymore, nothing’s ever gonna happen to yer. The government ain’t allowing it, and I ain’t allowing it, too.”

“Okay.” He snuggled closer. His mum wasn’t afraid of omnics, she wasn’t even afraid of those giant men, so he wasn’t either. There was only one last important thing bothering him.

“Will I be as tall and strong as them guys?” He frowned when she laughed.

“Maybe, but only when ya listening to ya mum. Then, ya might even be smarter than all of them dipsticks together!”

 


	3. A Gentleman's Giggle

Jamison Fawkes might be in lack of one leg but that made his speed all the more surprising for anyone who pursued him. He had left the fast food joint with his five bags, stored in a large bag thrown over his shoulder. The moment he stepped outside he was greeted by half a dozen guns pointed at him.

“G’day, mates!” He waved at the cops behind the guns. He took a step back and the automatic door behind him opened again.

“And goodbye!” Jamie bolted sideways, shrinking in size as his torso bent forward to gain better momentum of his steps.

“Don’t shoot! After him!” one of the cops yelled. By the time the door had closed again, Jamie was maneuvering through curious bystanders and indifferent strollers who didn’t wish for more than a pleasant night out. People protested cops yelled as they were running after him, following him through the street and hunting him around corners. Yes, Jamie was fast but it had its price; even hunched over he was still sticking out, a scrawny man in dirty clothes and a whirl of blond hair running with an old-fashioned prosthesis as they hadn’t been used in decades didn’t blend in well with the crowd.

Gasping for air between his chuckles, he looked over his shoulder. Good, he had shaken off all of them except one. He sprinted across another intersection, dodging a car, waving at the driver as he jumped over the bonnet. He landed on his peg leg first, the impact sending a jolt of pain through his spine.

“Stop!” the cop yelled after him. Jamie twirled around, hopping on his good leg, shaking his other to get rid of the numbness.

“Nah! YOU stop!” Grinning, he lifted the gun, aimed for the head. “BANG!” he shrieked and pulled the trigger.

Time stopped for a second. The cop’s face was frozen in shock, the grin fell from Jamie’s face.

Nothing happened. Nothing but a faint click instead of a loud bang and worse, the smell of heated metal was missing.

“Fuck! Fuck you, you fucking fuck-hog!”

Jamison Fawkes hated it to be fooled. Hated, hated, hated it! Who did this bloody pig think he was, sending him out with an empty gun? Stomping on the asphalt with both his foot and peg leg, he tossed the useless gun through the air. A smacking noise interrupted his tantrum, followed by a dull thud. Jamie raised his head and the grin returned instantly. Once in a while, he was the luckiest fellow under the sky. As it happened, he had thrown the gun the second the cop had launched forward - it hit his face, knocking him out.

“Nononono, all’s good now, no panic!” He laughed at the onlookers around him. They were recovering from the first shock and Jamie had to raise his voice to cut through the shouts for help. Tires screeched as cars stopped abruptly, it was only a matter of time until a driver reacted too late and crashed into the jam Jamie had created. It was loud, doors were opened and slammed shut, people yelled, demanding to know what was going on. Somebody cried and headlights were flashing.

Jamie was trembling, the noises formed a concert of chaos in his head, his eyelids were twitching as were the corner of his mouth. Thoughts were slipping away, all except one - he needed a weapon, another gun, or a bomb, a rocket, gunpowder, dynamite, a can of hairspray and a lighter…

“ _Don’t fuck up!”_

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, hoggie.” The comfort of chaos fell apart into voices belonging to people, shapes, and colors forming cars and buildings, and lights became a contrast to the dark night, illuminated faces and spelled messages on walls. Grumbling Roadhog and the words he had hammered into his head, Jamie turned around and merged with the crowd before the other cops caught up.

*

Humming to himself, he pulled the bag from under the dumpster. Good, his pig wasn’t useless after all. Everything was in place as he had promised.

He opened the bag, his face glowing with excitement when he spotted the gun.

“Wait! This better ain’t no other trick, ya bloody piglet!” He picked up the letter.

“ _Good work, Jamie. Follow the plan as discussed. Everything necessary is in this bag. Again, meet me on the 18th floor. Make sure nobody sees you getting up there. Check the floor plan on the back. Cause a distraction. Don’t kill. Don’t get caught. Dress up, distraction, 18th floor. Also, this one is loaded. Use it only if necessary. Still no kills!”_

“Ain’t stupid, man.” He crumpled the piece of paper up, stuffed it back into the bag and investigated the rest of the content. A shudder of joy was tingling down his spine when they closed around one of his explosives. He had almost not trusted Roadhog but they really were all there. A dozen of small bombs, wires, his small tool set, the trigger.

Wait, what did the letter say again? He retrieved the ball of paper and smoothened it. Right, dress.

Quickly, he slipped out of his shorts and shirt and into the long dress pants he also found in the bag. There was only one shoe, nice and polished and black like a fresh oil slick. Like the pants, it fitted! The material felt weird against his skin, he wasn’t used to covering up more than a last basic idea of modesty demanded and the fabric was thin and cheap. He put on the white shirt. In the darkness, especially his artificial right hand was struggling with the buttons, starting with the wrong one right away, and from there on, the pesky buggers kept slipping through his fingers.

“Fuck this…” He ripped the shirt open and the few buttons he had managed to close sprang away. The tie was next. He chuckled at the idea that Roadhog seriously believed he knew how to tie these things. Well, they were called neck ties, not tie ties, so he put it around his neck and let the ends dangle loosely on his chest.

Finally, there was the suit jacket, the same black fabric like the pants. It almost fit. The arms were long enough, it was certainly cut for a slender person, but still a bit wide around the shoulders.

Jamie grabbed his shorts and pulled his comb from one of the pockets. It was an old thing, the plastic cracked, several of its teeth missing, but it was his. He stood up to his full size, dragging the comb through his hair - breaking another tooth in the process. The comb, along with his usual clothes and the stolen fast food, was stuffed into the bag, under the explosives. He picked it up, shoved it over his shoulder. His chin lifted, his thumbs shoved behind the jacket’s lapels, he stood up to his full size.

“Now, this is what I call a mighty fine gentleman, Mr. Sir Jamison Fawkes,” he whistled with a fake, nasal voice before he broke into a giggle. “And it’s time this gentleman gets some work done.”

*

The hotel’s restaurant emptied into the lobby where guests ready to dive into the night crossed the paths of those coming home from a day filled with sightseeing and now ready for a drink and their bed. Late evening was the time the lobby buzzed with life like at no other time during the day and at first, nobody took notice of one peculiar guest who dropped a large bag reeking of cold fast food on the floor as soon as he entered.

“Ahem, Ladies and Gentlemen!” Jamie threw his arms up as if he was ready to embrace the whole crowd. However, he stood a little lost when everybody was too busy with their plans and friends.

“Tsk, those city slickers ain’t havin’ no manners.” Rolling his eyes, he pulled the gun, aimed it at the ceiling and fired.

Dust and mortar rained down on him. Voices fell silent, heads turned around and here and there, someone was gasping for air to avert sudden panic attacks. Everyone stared at the tall man with the gun who, with the dust in his hair, looked twice the age as he was and whose _individual_ way to wear a suit made him look half as much of a gentleman as he wanted to appear.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” he repeated, grinning and satisfied with the attention. Again, he opened his arms to welcome his audience, already forgetting the gun he was waving around. There was a distinct doubt that his idea of creating a distraction didn’t have anything to do with what Roadhog had in mind but that was Roadhog’s fault. He hadn’t been specific thus he couldn’t be angry when Jamie took matters into his own hands, Junkrat-style.

“It’s me pleasure to inform you ‘bout tonight’s show! It’s a game show.” He chuckled as he fished his beloved remote trigger from his jacket with his free hand. He held it up for everyone to see.

“Here’s the rules: Y’all have ten minutes to get outta here before the fireworks! Fifteen if ya leave all yer money and jewelry here in the lobby, where I can take good care of them later.” He hadn’t had bothered with the details while he was rigging the place with bombs, he was making them up as he went along and was pleased with himself how well he improvised.

“If ya hurry nobody’s gonna get hurt. This is a quality heist. I, the great Junkrat, guarantee it. Hey, anyone from the press here? Mark my name down. No? Connections to the press?” His head was jerking from left to right and back, but all he saw were shocked and pale faces. Boo, how boring.

“Ya know, I’ve had better audiences than this,” he sulked, frowning. They could at least try and pretend they were enthusiastic, after all, he was giving it his best.

“Uh, what was I sayin’… right! Fifteen minutes and this place gets blown to pieces! Isn’t that great? Oh!” The shrill crying of a child threw him off. His eyes grew wide as he frantically searched the crowd for the source of the noise. There! A man and women, both well-dressed and well-fed, each with a child in their arms. The little boy the woman was holding was hardly older than three, a plump thing with pale brown hair, the face red from crying and a voice strong enough to drown any police sirens. His mother had a hard time calming him down.

“Yo!” Three long steps and Jamie stood in front of them. To the mother’s horror, a long, skinny arm shot around her baby and snatched him from her arms.

“Nononono, hey, damn, yer loud! Sure ya ain’t no bomb?” Jamie giggled, letting the kid bounce on his arm. Unable to process what was happening, the child forgot about his tantrum and stared at him with round, blue eyes. “Ya lookin’ funny with the red face, ya know that? Like a little piggy! Cuter than that damn hog, though. Hey, ya ticklish?” The little boy was clapping his hands while he was carried around, unaware of his poor mother who was about to faint and his fear-stricken father who didn’t know who he was supposed to help first - the boy he was holding, his wife, his boy kidnapped by a madman or himself. Jamie was babbling along with the kid, tickling it’s squishy stomach with his gun much to the boy’s delight who didn’t stop giggling.

The people around him began to mutter, some of the more brave souls dared to move closer but neither of them wanted to be the first to attack a man holding a gun and a small kid. The line between becoming a hero or responsible for a baby’s death was as thin as the thread of Jamison’s sanity at times.

“All better now? Yeah!” he cheered when the boy nodded. “Hope ya can walk! Bye, shrimp!” He put the kid down. At first, the boy was lost what to do, looking up at Jamie half expecting him to lift him up again and play more.

“Shoo! Yer mommy’s waitin’!” Jamie took a step back. He had a way with cheering them up which seemed quite fitting to him, after all, crying babies and children made him uncomfortable. It was fun to make them laugh but once that was done, he didn’t have much use for them.

“Nice evening, little fella!” Finally, the kid turned around - not after giving him a clumsy wave with his little hand - and staggered back to his family on small, chubby legs.

“Okay, as I said!” Just when he was about to reclaim his stage everything happened at once.

“GET HIM!” a voice behind him yelled, and four men were leaping at him. He ducked and dived away from them, letting one fall over his peg leg. Throwing himself around, he kicked his bag out of the way before one of the guys fell on it. With both his legs in the air, he had to sacrifice either the remote trigger or the gun to save himself from crashing to the floor. He held tightly to both and fell flat on his face.

The sound of sirens howled through the streets and was coming closer at concerning speed. Jamie pushed himself up, wiping his face with the back of his good hand. He was lucky, no blood. Nose hurt but didn’t feel broken.

“Hey, hey, not so fast, mates! No way I’m fucking this up!” Still sitting on the floor, he held up the gun and aimed with the trigger at one of the man. He noticed his mistake and switched weapons. Talking about fucking up, where was Roadhog when he needed him? Why did he hire that slog when he wasn’t there when Jamie needed him?!

Tires were screeching outside, voices shouted, car doors were slammed shut.

“Sorry, mates, gotta go!” He scrambled back to his feet, slipped one arm through the handle of the bag and tore it from the floor. He and Mako might not always be in agreement when it came to plans but Mako certainly would count being caught by the police as “fucking up” and for once, Jamie was willing to agree. The police didn’t storm the lobby right away, too many civilians were present and rushed actions could cost lives. Their presence, however, had sparked new determination in many faces around him and a circle of men and women was closing around him. From the far end of the room, he heard a child laugh.

“Ungrateful little bugger…” His euphoria dimmed. What was he doing here? Things had started so well, where had he gone wrong? Where the hell was Roadie? Jamie swore he’d admit at once he was wrong and fucked up if only the big hog showed up and got him out of this mess. He still had a few bullets left but hesitated to fire. He would probably have taken down the moment he shot the first time but that wasn’t what he had in mind. The last thing he wanted to hear now was hearing more crying children. Damn those children. Why did they get sad and scared so easily? Useless mites!

“Here speaks Officer Lawson!” a voice echoed through the still closed door. “We can solve this peacefully. There is no need for anyone to get hurt. I promise that-”

An earth shattering detonation aggravated the already delicate situation. People outside and inside were yelling, the lobby broke into a chaos of shouting and howling people running around out sense or reason. The sirens of an approaching fire truck added to the growing hysteria and above the whole cacophony of noises ringed the laughter of a child.

“Hell ya! Time Bomb Ex Machina! And Junkrat’s back in business! Can’t believe I forgot ‘bout it, though. Nah, never mind.” He fired two more bullets into the ceiling, cheering and chuckling at the high-pitched shrieks coming from ducking heads. “Hey, lemme join the party!” Being in the best of moods, he dived into the chaos, shrieking and stumbling as everybody else as he navigated away from the main door and towards the elevator.

“Dammit.” He found it deactivated. Oh well, Hoggie better blamed the stairways for him being late.

 


	4. A Child's Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't supposed to be happy.

On a bright sunny day, the earth was shaking and the sky turned dark. The heat of the sun meant nothing where fires engulfed fields and homes. Flames jumped from houses to plant to the corpses of those killed by the explosion. The fire was strong in its destruction and only week if not fed but to its luck, it found a rich buffet in the Australian Outback, dusty and dried out even more during the months of summer.

What wasn’t destroyed on the day of the detonation crumbled away before the veil of dust settled. Who didn’t die through the explosion died later of suffocation, radiation or in the flames. Who didn’t die then - may the God they’d chosen to believe in have mercy on them.

For most, death came in the night. The small community, consisting of a few small farms supporting each other and modest stores to supply them drowned in flames. Oil and gasoline, meant to last until the new year, turned the idyllic village into a burning hell, a rain of fire falling on roofs and streets, scorching those running outside for air and safety. Screams of those who didn’t understand what was happening, cries and shouts filled the night until the fire found the gas line. Walls standing for generations collapsed while flames shot out of windows and doors and death silenced the voices.

“Don’t cry, please, don’t cry!” Scorched blond hair, skin gray from the ashes and dust. The limbs covered in blood clotting with sand and dust, the little boy rocked back and forth. His arms were tightly wrapped around the bundle of the size of a baby, not older than a year.

“Jamie, stop. If you don’t come now we have to leave you here!” Few stayed alive and were now confronted with the fight for their survival. Six years old Jamison Fawkes was one of them and so was one of his neighbors and one of her sons. One woman and one boy of a family of seven. Bethany, a real niece of Aunt Emmy. Aunt Emmy, who was burnt alive along with Beth’s husband and children. She was carrying her son Danny, a boy as young as Jamie.

“Come, now!” Her tone was harsh. She was tired and fear and grief were eating away her gentle kindness. Once a sweet woman, now a scared girl, scared for her only surviving child and burdened with the son of another family. If the fire had taken this boy, he could be with his family and maybe instead of him, she could have kept more than only one child of four…

“She’s hungry. That’s why she’s cryin’!” Jamie didn’t look up. He stared at the pale face of his baby sister, rocking her back and forth, back and forth.

“For Heaven’s sake, Jamie, she stopped crying a day ago. I’m sorry, but you’re not taking a dead baby with you. Let’s go now!” She grabbed him by his skinny arm and pulled him up and dragged him with her. The boy was shrieking and howling. His arm was hurt and when her fingers dug into his skin he lost the little strength he had. His voice was filled with horror when he dropped the corpse of his sister when the grip was too strong for him to tear himself loose and pick her up.

Tears streamed over his face as well as over Beth’s. Her heart seemed filled with poisonous dust like her lungs, but it wasn’t cold. Seeing a child cradling his little sister, the only family member beside him who made it out of the burning house alive pained her, all the more when the little mite died in his arms before the fateful night was over. Part of her resented him, oh, if she only had had one more moment with her children, if God had decided they had to die, why couldn’t they have died held and loved in her arms? But her pity was stronger and so she didn’t let go of the crying, struggling boy. Enough souls had died.

“Is this Fawkes’ boy? Why did you bring him along?” Roger Wallace lost his tool repair shop and a wife in the fire. He was one of seven other surviving adults besides Bethany. Danny and Jamison were the only children who weren’t killed by the flames or suffocated from the smoke.

“Should I’ve left him sitting there? It’s a bit early for us to lose all morality, don’t you think? We’ve enough time ahead of us to forget we’re humans,” she snapped back, hurling her backpack on the only wooden cart that was still useful. She put her son next to it and picked up Jamie.

“Don’t do anything stupid. You made it out alive. Now be a good grateful boy and listen to me if you don’t want to die after all. Got it?”

Jamie had stopped screaming. Tears were still running over his cheeks, drawing smudged lines into his dust-covered face. His gaze was empty but he nodded.

“Good. Hope I won’t regret taking you along. Never forget how lucky you are,” she warned him and put him next to her son. Both kids were silent, overwhelmed by apathy and exhaustion.

“Yeah, like there’s anything to regret in bringing the skinniest child of the Outback along when we don’t have food and water for another day. I know, I know.” Roger raised his hands in defense when Bethany’s glare scorched what skin of his face wasn’t covered in blisters. “He’s just a child, like your boy. Danny’s at least strong and tall for his age. We all are lucky we made it out alive. And I don’t wish him death or anything. But damn, if God wanted to save a second child, weren’t there stronger, healthier ones to choose from?”

“Don’t question the Lord if you can’t tell Satan’s curse apart from a test of your faith.” Abraham Walker appeared from the other side of the cart. The tragedy bent his old back more than the many years he had lived, the forever-young spark was gone from his eyes. He was walking on a crutch made of sticks and his left leg was splinted and bandaged.

“Leave Him out of this. Tell you what, Abe, Satan seems a lot less scary when we’re already going through hell here! It’s gonna be hard enough to survive this when we’re all working together. _Working._ We just can’t have freeloaders live on us.” Roger turned his back towards the children and moved away from Bethany. Her face was glowing crimson under the dirt and she shot angry glances at Roger. But she was busy rubbing the crust of dust and tears from her son’s face and needed all her strength to keep her voice upbeat and reassuring as she talked to him.

Jamison didn’t listen, nor did he pay attention to the boy and woman next to him. He was staring at his empty hands were his sister was supposed to be. He hadn’t seen his mother since they had told him goodnight two nights before. In the middle of the night, his father had pulled him outside and pushed his little sister into his arms. Then, he promised to come back with their mum in a few minutes and ran back into the burning house.

He had waited, holding Little Bugger, no, Addison, who was crying and crying until her voice gave out. The roof collapsed, and somebody had grabbed him by his shoulder and dragged him away, only a moment before the explosion. Once whoever had saved him had forgotten about him, he walked back, coughing Addison pressed tightly against his chest, but all that was left to return to was a pile of rubble.

Maybe they got out while he was away. What if they were searching for them? If he left with the others they wouldn’t find him! They sure would find his sister soon and as soon they were sure she was okay they would continue their search for him, he knew just knew it! They wouldn’t forget about him. They never would.

And he wouldn’t forget them.

The argument between Abraham and Roger was still going on. The old man was shaking his head while the other insisted this wasn’t the time for charity, all while avoiding to make a decision or demanding Jamie to leave.

“Roger, explain one thing to me.” Abraham sighed, pointing at his leg. “You’re arguing about one child. A boy who doesn’t need much space or food. Yet, you don’t want me to stay behind. I’m old, Roger. My back hurts so much, I can hardly stand. This bone will take forever to heal. I can’t walk long distances. I can’t hunt, I can’t forage, I can’t build anything. I can’t do much more than making a fire and tell stories. Why don’t you protest against me?”

“That’s different, Abe. You’re a doctor. If we need anything or anyone, it’s a doctor. Most of us are hurt and coughing. I saw Lynn spitting blood earlier. We need your help as much as you need ours.”

“I haven’t practiced in years. My daughters are the doctors now. It’s a cruel joke that their bodies are buried under the remains of our home instead of me. Along with all medicine and tools. I’ll do what I can but don’t expect miracles. All I can hope now is not being abandoned by the roadside when you realize how much more useless this old man is than a child with healthy arms and legs.” Abraham sighed again and limped over to the children. Bethany was making room for him and he walked up to Jamie.

“Don’t you worry, Little Jamie. Uncle Abe will take care of you. Even when I’m not of much use, I can still look after you kids and teach you a thing or two.” He patted Jamie’s cheek. The boy looked up, meeting the old kind eyes that belonged a friendly, cheerful face, and not into this grimace of pain and worry.

“I…” He wanted to thank him. To ask him to stay behind with him and wait for his parents. To look for his sister. If they only were all back together they could rebuild. And then, everything could be normal again.

The words died in his throat. The tears returned, flooding his eyes. His voice being nothing but soft wails and hiccups, he fell around Abraham’s throat, his little arms almost choking the poor old man who gently patted his back.

*

Breathing was becoming easier after they left the dust behind. While still in their destroyed village, the few survivor believed it was only their homes, a leak in a pipeline, an accident close by one of the gasoline containers. Nobody had questioned the coughing or the fevers or wondered about the dust rising into the sky.

Only after they left it dawned them it maybe wasn’t just something that happened to their village only. Something bigger was going on, there was no doubt left after the fourth day of traveling began and the smell of burnt wood, flesh and plastics still lingered as strongly as before. It was a smell of death and it was becoming a part of their lives.

On the second day, they had reached one of the isolated farms. Or rather, what was left of it. The house was burnt down, the family gone. They found the old farmer dead in the backyard. There was no sign of the cattle. Which was good news. If the animals weren’t scattered around the farm dead they had fled. So they were alive and could be hunt down. These were good news.

The bad news was that they were traveling on the trail of death, and when the sun dawned again they’d find more ruins and corpses.

“Are you feeling better, Jamie?” Uncle Abe climbed into the cart. He had won another fight against Roger who refused to allow anyone to sleep among their few belongings. The other adults didn’t bother. They lacked the strength to fight and once they made camp in the evenings, all they wanted was to rest, eat and fall to sleep as soon as possible. Only Bethany had joined the discussion, insisting that an exception should be made for all children but quickly withdrew herself when her son protested. He didn’t want to sleep next to Jamie, he wanted to stay with his mother.

So Jamison was the only one who didn’t sleep in the dirt. He hadn’t slept much at all. His head was hurting, his face burning. His eyes were glassy from the fever, giving his amber eyes a sickly, yellowish color. It was too hot under the blanket Uncle Abe had wrapped around him but it was too cold without it. It didn’t matter, he couldn’t move anyway. So he had been lying on his back, his eyes half open, his chest heaving while he drifted into and out of sleep.

He turned his head when he heard Uncle Abe calling his name. He tried to smile, only managing a grotesque grin. He was fine, of course. His body was hurting, yes, but he would be fine soon. He wasn’t a burden. That was why he had to smile. They wouldn’t want him if he was sick. He had to help them, he had to go hunting or scavenging the ruins of houses for food or anything else they could use.

“Brave little mite.” Abraham pushed the blanket back and took a look at the bandage covering the boy’s right arm.

Jamison hadn’t said anything and nobody had wondered about it. He had always been a quiet child. Bethany had discovered the wounds on the second day. The right half of his body was covered in cuts, bruises and flesh wounds. His arm and leg got the worst of it. The holes in his flesh didn’t bleed anymore, instead, they were festering.

Abraham had done his best, cleaning the wound with his own water ration and put on the cleanest fabric he could find.

He unwrapped the bandage, swallowing against the unpleasant smell. It wasn’t looking worse than yesterday, but also not better. Jamison winced when the old man carefully pressed against the still healthy flesh closest to the infection.

“Can you help me? I need to be strong!” Jamison suddenly whispered and broke into a coughing fit. His voice was dry and he hadn’t drunk since last evening.

“You’re strong, Little Jamie. Don’t worry, I gotcha! And once we’re outta here, I’m getting you ice cream. As much as you want.” Abraham was still the same old doctor speaking to scared children as he used to be. He opened his water bottle, held up Jamie’s head and let him have a few sips. He could only hope he wasn’t making promises to a dying child. Fate was playing one cruel joke after the other. How easily could he have tended to the injuries if he had a decent medical kit, or if the damn Outback wasn’t cursed with a dry spell! Water was scarce and under the hot sun, he wouldn’t find any plants with disinfecting properties.

“You heal me arm ‘n leg, yes? I wanna help! Mom says you’ve always been the best!”

He was still talking about his family in present tense, neither Roger’s rants nor Bethany’s nor Abraham’s sad smiles changed that. He still believed in his parents. They were somewhere out there, and sooner or later, they would him. But he didn’t want them to see him like this!

“I can be strong! Look!” He tried to raise his right arm, his small hand clenched to his fist and showing off his biceps. All that happens were his fingers twitching. “Just warming up. Look, now!” Again, only twitching fingers.

“Jamie, it’s okay…” Abraham comforted him but when he wanted to pat his hair, Jamie jerked his head away.

“Look! Look! I can move it! It’s better! All better now!” The pitch of his voice was growing into a hysterical yell. He threw himself around, finally getting his arm up from the ground, only to have it crash down again. He howled at the pain. His good leg was kicking, the other was bent into an unhealthy arch.

“Jamie! Jamison! Please, calm down!” Abraham shoved his arms around the boy and pulled him up into a hug, humming as he rocked back and forth. His dry, wrinkled hand felt cold on Jamie’s feverish forehead. Slowly, the boy calmed down, being nothing than a sobbing mess with festering limbs.

“Don’t be scared, Little Jamie. I’ll find a way to help you. You’ll live, I promise!”

But Jamie was scared. He could feel the infection eating his flesh away and there was nothing he could do. He had heard the others talk about him. He had seen his friend Danny helping his mother and the other adults. Uncle Abe’s leg was still broken but he made some kind of bitter tea that helped Lynn and some of the others with their coughing fits.

All he could do was being in pain. He had never been strong. He was still small for his six years. Now he was sick. His parents had been the first to abandon him and when they knew how useless he was, it was only a question of time before Uncle Abe gave up on him as well.

 


	5. Shaping a Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazing [Blastedking](https://blastedking.tumblr.com/post/157322234744/based-on-the-dust-we-leave-behind-by) provided some amazing artwork for this fic! She and the art are wonderful! Check out her tumblr and give her some love ♥

Quietness. Solitude. Alone and far above the busy world with its crooks, corruption and pathetic idealism. This was the life! Mako sighed and glided deeper into the comfortably warm water of the whirlpool. He had the wellness area all to himself after the alarm ordered the immediate evacuation. The few other visitors had run for their life and for the next few hours, he was the king over pools and massage tables.

He sighed when faint ripples broke the perfect, smooth surface. His eyes closed, his hand patted along the edge of the pool for his mask. He put it on and just when he secured it firmly in its place, the door behind him opened. People were screaming, shouting names and over all them, somebody was yelling into a megaphone, warning them to be-

The door closed again. Tock-tock-tock it clicked over the floor, taking turns with a flat heel of a shoe.

“How many saw you and do I have enough time to put on my pants?”

“Dangit, Hogster, show a little faith. I’m a professional!”

Mako opened one eye, watching Jamie stagger around the pool. The floor was smooth and slick with water, not the ideal surface for a peg leg. It threatened to slip away a few times, forcing Jamie to hunch over for balance. Despite all odds, one of them Jamie being Jamie, he managed to reach a folding chair without slipping and crashing to the ground. He threw the bag on the chair. He put the end of the peg leg on the floor with one last, determined click and straightened up. His hands propped on his hip and head held high, he condescended to give Mako one smug smile.

“See, followed every step of your stupid plan. Gotta admit, you got some mighty fine taste. Looking fine here, ain’t I?” He brushed some dust from his jacket and tugged the cover of his shirt. It did no visible effect. The collar was still crooked, the buttons still closed the wrong way.

“You look different.” It was a miracle how Jamie managed to look even skinnier after putting on more clothes than usual instead of showing his ribs. The suit was the right size, however. He’d help him later to dress correctly, maybe that would help already.

“Givin’ me some bloody compliment ain’t hurting ya, ya know.” The corners of his mouth dropped a little. “Never mind! Here, got the goods!” Jamie sprung around, opened the bag and pulled out a grease-soaked paper bag with cold junk food. “Peace of cake, mate! Should’ve seen me! Fooled them cops good!”

“Cops?!” If he jumped out of the water right now he should have enough time to dress and get out of here. The elevator was probably blocked by this time so down the stairs it was. If he skipped shoes and shirt and just jumped into his pants he should have enough time to shake Jamie and then get out of here.

“Oh, just one or two, nothing worth mentioning. God rid off them. And didn’t kill anybody, just like you wanted.”

“Did they follow you?”

“Nobody followed me! Stop taking me for an amateur, ya lazy pig! While you’re havin’ a fancy soak it was me doin’ all the running.” Jamie’s chest was swelling to twice its size as he inhaled enough air to unleash one of his passionate speeches about his woes as a misunderstood genius. His jaw dropped and forgot to close at the sight of the food cart and the partly finished dishes.

“What’s this! Ya fuckin’ kidding me, mate!” Jamie bounced on his good leg, pointing an accusing finger at the remains of steak, vegetables, an assortment of different pasta and the half-empty bottle of red wine. “Ya got me to get ya shitty burgers, chased by cops, without any damn sweet bombs and meanwhile, ya were stuffing your face?!”

“Left something for you.” Mako leaned back with a satisfied grunt, his toes splashing through the water’s surface. This place’s cuisine was as excellent as their spa. Since Jamie had arrived, no other noises came from the corridor. His instincts told him they were safe. Also, Jamie might be a scatterbrain but his survival instincts were in order. If anything, he was a little too jumpy and paranoid at times. If a half-finished dinner pissed him off this much, there wasn’t much to fear. Unless… Mako’s shoulders stiffened. Unless he had one of his _brilliant_ ideas now that he had his explosives back.

_Ah, to hell with it._ The warm water made him lazy. Also, it was time he learned to trust Jamie if he wanted to pull through with the next phase of his plan.

“Fuck this. Don’t wanna eat ya kingly bullshit. Stuff’s bad for me common brain.” Jamie pouted, sat down on the floor and bit into the first cheeseburger. Mako smiled behind his mask. Stubborn, proud Jamison. Mako stretched his legs and dived far enough under until only his head was sticking out. The ends of his white hair were floating around his face. It was nice to wash off the dust and oil of their every-day life. Too bad that good hideouts away from any bloodthirsty pursuers usually didn’t come with a decent bathroom.

He waited for Jamie to finish his third burger and empty one of the colorful cans he had brought.

“Come over here. The water’s nice ‘n warm.” Mako emerged from the water, waving at Jamie, who dropped burger number four.

“Me? Gettin’ boiled in there? Forget it.” He picked up the burger, unwrapped it and shoved it into his mouth. He struggled to close his jaws around it, his way of saying the discussion was over. Mako gave a low, threatening growl. Yes, he had expected this, yet he had hoped against hope that for once, they wouldn’t have to argue about something as stupid as taking a bath.

“Jamison Fawkes!”

“Ain’t gonna do it. Nope, Sir Hogalot, no.” Jamie swallowed half of the burger and choked, not bothering to cover his mouth as he coughed his throat free. “Ya know I hate baths!”

“No, you don’t. You love makin’ a fuss every fucking time! Let’s cut this short.” Slowly, he stood up to his full size. “Get them off and get in here. Or I make you do it. Your choice.”

“No! Stay away! Get your hands off of ‘em!” Shrieking, Jamie tried to leap to his feet but this time, his peg leg slipped and he fell back on his bottom. Kicking the air, he crawled backward, away from Mako. “I need ‘em! What if they come and get us? _You_ gonna run and scare them away with ya fat naked ass! Ya leavin’ me and they gonna kill me!”

“Nobody’s gonna kill you.” Mako slowly walked up to him, grabbed Jamie by his good arm and pulled him up. He still struggled to get a good hold of the ground. Mako held him until Jamie found his balance and pushed him onto the folding chair. “Get ‘em off. I’ll help you back into the water. If somebody comes I get you and them and get us all out of here. Promised.”

“Asshole. Fucking jerk. Go and drown!” Jamie’s lips trembled and he spoke against a lump in his throat. But he peeled himself out of the suit and first removed his leg, then his arm. He put both artificial limbs on the chair, not leaving them out of sight when Mako picked him up and carried him back to the whirlpool. He sat him down at the edge and hurried to get back into the water. The spa was well heated but coming right out of the hot water without rubbing himself dry, he was beginning to feel a child.

Jamie’s eyes were glued to his prosthetics for another minute or two. His good hand was clinging to the edge of the small pool. His good leg was kicking the water. Finally, he shot one angry glare at Mako and slid into the pool.

Mako watched his face with amusement. Jamie was struggling so hard to keep his mouth from twitching into a smile. His eyes wanted to close as he submerged into the nice, warm water but he also wanted to punish Mako with his death glare.

“Okay, okay.” He threw hand and remains of his right arm towards the ceiling, hissing in defeat. “It is kinda nice. But I warn ya, if they come and get us and I get killed I’m gonna kill ya!”.

“Deal.” That would be the loudest, most obnoxious haunting the world of the living had ever experienced but Mako was willing to take the risk. So far, everything had gone according to his plan. Maybe not smoothly. Well, most likely not smoothly, but this time, it was the result alone that counted. One more bounty on their heads didn’t make a big difference.

“Alright, Hogster. What’s all this ‘bout? Ya ain’t thinkin’ I believe ya your great plan was all ‘bout taking a fuckin’ bath? Ya didn’t even want the food I got ya! Gimme the full story already.” Jamie’s long leg reached across the pool. With his toe, he poked Mako’s round belly. This was worth a grin. No matter what most people they met - and Jamie himself - said, the brat wasn’t half as stupid at it seemed sometimes. Now he had to choose his words with care. If there was a way to explain the next step of his big plan without having Jamie flip.

“I want you to relax. It’s gonna be a big thing. Our biggest challenge and I had to see if you’re up to it. Looks like you are.”

“’Course I am! Come on, don’t lemme hangin’! I’m in, now tell me what it is! A bank? No, not a bank, them are easy. Cash transport? No, no, boring. Robbing a stagecoach! No, wait, wrong century… ” His hand was wagging like a happy dog’s tail, splashing the water all over his face. He was leaning forward, grinning all over his face. Good, he was excited. Jamie loved a good challenge and although his eagerness to proof himself got them into trouble often enough, it was what Mako had hoped for tonight.

“We have to be stealthy. For a day, we must not be recognized. Do you understand?” Mako reached out and took Jamie’s hand, stopping its flailing. He stared into Jamie’s eyes, fixating the flushed face under his glare. Jamie’s fingers were twitching, his good leg was restless, but he listened.

“Stealth. We hide. Is that what the suit is for?”

Good, Jamie was following him. Now he had to be careful to keep this scatterbrain on track.

“We infiltrate a certain place from two directions. We are going to be separated for a short time. I’m meeting you when we arrive at our destination. Unrecognized by anyone. Got it?” He’d explain it all over a few times anyway. He had also prepared a written note that would be obscure enough for anyone who might find it while searching Jamie but clear enough to understand for him. But the deeper he could plant the seed from the start, the better.

“Yeah, yeah. Got it. Destination. Flank it. Meet you there, get the loot. Uh, where is there again?” Jamie wiggled on the narrow underwater bench, his hand clenching to Mako’s, his stump moving forwards as though an invisible second hand wanted to reach for Mako as well.

Mako took a deep breath. No beating around the bush. That was never good with Jamie. He needed clear, unambiguous facts or he’d jumble them up in his busy head. Or be busy to find a way to worm out of something he didn’t want to do. Fine. It had to be said, now or never.

“We meet in England.”

“WHAT!” Jamie jerked his hand free and jumped up. He stood stock-still, swaying on his one foot with astonishing balance. Which, given the circumstances, was good. Mako couldn’t risk distracting Jamie from the matter at hand with any warnings about safety.

“England. Airport London. Sydney Airport. Plane. England.”

“I ain’t going in no plane! Forget it! This is my home! Ain’t gonna leave it behind!” Jame waved his arm, his cut-off leg dangling helplessly in the air as a subconscious part of Jamie was trying to put down the foot that wasn’t there. Mako was ready to leap at Jamie and catch him in case he was falling backward, towards the edge of the pool.

“Sydney Airport. Plane. England,” he repeated with a calm, fatherly voice. “Calm down, and I explain you why.”

“No! Dun gimme that calm shit! Fuck this crap! We ain’t leaving. We gotta have stuff goin’ on here! We stay! We stay! I’m not going! No!” Finally, he lost his balance. His arm flailing, he fell but Mako grabbed him before he cracked his head open on the floor. He put his massive hands on the thin, trembling shoulders and gently, he pushed him down, back on the seat and into the water.

Mako inhaled, exhaled. A slow, exaggerated rhythm, loud and deep. Jamie was fidgeting under his grip. Mako wasn’t holding him with force, his touch and presence were enough against Jamie’s impulse to jump up and bolt. He kept breathing and slowly, Jamie was adapting. He stopped gasping for air as though he was suffocating. He looked up at Mako, a sad madness in his eyes, his eyebrows raised as if he had just been informed of the death of a loved one. But he was calming down.

“You hear me?”

“Aye, big guy,” he said with a nervous giggle. Crap. Mako had expected him to put up a fight and argue but he hadn’t thought Jamie would be scared shitless. And it wasn’t over yet. There was one last ace up his metaphorical sleeve, one last argument that would hopefully do the trick and Mako hoped it was worth the price. There was one thing Jamie feared more than changes.

“Tomorrow, our plane leaves for London. Jamie. I’m going to be on this plane. Checked the bike and my stuff in yesterday.”

“We can’t. Roadie, this is our home. Can’t leave it behind.”

“Jamie, the whole fucking country is after us. It’s dead or alive. It’s impossible to pull a big gig off anytime soon.” They had reached a point where laying low was impossible to pull off unless they crawled under a rock in the deepest desert. And there, other Junkers would find them. Junkers not as smart as Jamie and him, but vicious and resourceful, as a benefit of being hired by money bags to hunt Jamie down, and by extension, him. Mako loved a good adventure, but he also loved success and being able to move freely enough to enjoy the fruits of whatever crazy heist Jamie’s brain cooked up. Hiding now and then, well, he accepted that as a necessity but gladly took a pass on it as the main course.

“Jamie. Not forever. And there are new banks to rob, new jewelry stores. Do you know England has a queen? We can pilfer her treasure if you want. We’re expanding our business internationally.” He observed Jamie’s face closely for any signs of understanding and acceptance. Jamie was pale under his tan, only his cheeks glowing with an unhealthy flush. His right eyelid was twitching and the only reason he wasn’t talking was that he had pressed his lips together to a stubborn pout. Slowly, Jamie shook his head.

Alright, all or nothing.

“Jamison Fawkes. I’m leaving for London tomorrow. I want you to come with me. If you don’t I’ll leave you here. I’ll go alone and I won’t come back.”

There. He dropped the bombshell, it exploded, and left tangible silence in its wake. All blood left Jamie’s face, his eyes seemed too wide and feverish. Ghostly at first, his skin slowly took a sickly, ashen shade. Mako stepped back and sat down on his spot. He was cruel to Jamie but he had no choice. The news had to sink in and any word, any sign of affection would interrupt the process. There was only one right answer and Jamie had to give it on his own. Leaving him in Australia on his own would sooner or later be Jamie’s death sentence. Leaving wasn’t without risk either and Jamie had to be 100% behind the plan or they’d be riddled with bullets before they set a foot inside a plane.

The whole world was waiting for them, all the riches, all the adventures, and many nicer places to hide and lay low than the Outback. They both could need a change of pace and especially Jamie needed to rest his mind for once, without sensing danger behind every corner.

It was the best for both of them and Jamie would realize it as soon as they were there. The benefits were worth the few moments of hurt, or so Mako told himself. It wasn’t like he had a better idea how to deliver the news to Jamie anyway.

Mako chewed on his tongue. It was hard to say nothing, not even calling his name. God knew the boy needed it, a word of assurance, a pat on the back, a hug. But Mako couldn’t do it, they had to go through this. It was for the best. It was. Of course, it was.

If Jamie only said something. Usually, thanks to hardship and radiation, Jamie looked a little older than his twenty-five years. In this moment, his face void of all expressions and color, he seemed so young, like a child forced to face the cruel truth that all he ever cared for was no more and would never be his again.

Mako prayed he’d finally talk. One of his giggles would be fine. Anything before he vomited into the pool. Fuck, he should have broken the news to Jamie before he stuffed himself with greasy fast food.

Then, the storm broke loose.

“No! NO! Don’t! You can’t!” Jamie launched himself at Mako, his fist hammering against Mako’s chest. He was screaming at the top of his voice in sheer terror. “Don’t leave me behind! Don’t! Don’t leave me alone!” Unable to keep his balance on one leg, he collapsed on Mako. His good hand clawed into Mako’s skin, the shortened limb flailed uselessly in water and air, hitting Mako more by accident than intended.

“It ain’t fair! Me ain’t done anything wrong! Don’t leave me behind!” He almost choked on his words and snot, his voice cracked into a pathetic sob.

Mako let him. He put his arms around him without hugging him too tightly, leaving him enough room for his fit but saving him from accidentally hurting or drowning himself.

It was good that the hotel was empty. The terrified screams were loud enough to alert at least this two other floors. Mako had dreaded this reaction. While he had hoped for a less violent outburst, he had expected it. Which was one reason why he chose to claim the top floors of a hotel instead of simply booking a room for a good rest.

Jamie was clinging to him. His yells had died down to weak sobs. Mako stroke over his back and through his remaining hair.

“Do you want to come with me, Jamie?” He hummed when he was sure Jamie had calmed down enough to hear him again.

“Yes.” Jamie sniffled and wiped his face with the back of the hand. “You still my bodyguard in London?”

“Of course. But you have to listen to me until we got outta here and you got used to the place. Understood? Good.” He patted Jamie’s head when he nodded and gave him a short, hearty squeeze.

 

 


End file.
